We are all very protective of our children. We monitor their nutrition, make sure they get enough sleep, drown them in sunscreen and hand out antibiotics the second they get sick like they are Halloween candy. Which was why I was so stoked yesterday when my kid completely wiped out while rollerskating.
Now, now, before you begin clutching your pearls, I will assure you that my kid was wearing a helmet, knee pads, elbow pads and long sleeves. She also happened to be wearing shorts. And when she revved up a bit too hard and careened down our driveway only to skid on her backside over some stray gravel for what seemed like 10 minutes but was actually only about five seconds, I cringed on her behalf.
Man, that’s gotta hurt.
And hurt it did! She came into the house choking back sobs, the entire right side of her backside above her thigh to her boooooo-tay was red and angry and doing that thing where when you get a bad scrape and the skin is almost broken but mainly bruised and ugh, it did not look good. I quickly cleaned the wound and applied some giant Band-Aids and kissed her and hugged her and reassured her and was inwardly thrilled.
Because this kid has never been hurt before.
The worst transgression of her childhood thus far has been the occasional mosquito bite and the mild sunburn. By the time I was slightly older than her I had suffered a concussion, a broken arm, numerous burns and scrapes and bloody noses and bee stings and gum in my hair, and even on occasion, soaking wet pee-pee pants because I was too busy playing and I didn’t make it to the bathroom on time.
Not to show my age and be all get-the-hell-off-my-lawn (Or, in this case, my driveway) but you know what our kids, or kids these days or this generation is injured by?
The remote for the TV having the batteries die. Or the internet going out for a few hours. Or if they run out of their favorite fruit snack. Or if the store is sold out of a toy they badly wanted.
Our kids are all freakin’ wimps.
I’m not talking about the kids out there who suffer from illness or disease or life-threatening allergies. Those kids are all heroes. I’m talking about perfectly fine kids who break down in sobs the second they fall down. What’s worse than these kids are their parents, and you know the ones I’m talking about, the ones who will call you in a shrieking tizzy if their kid sprains their ankle. Or who send you their kid’s Amazon wish list if they break an arm. Or who go into a panic spiral if their kid climbs too high on the playground equipment.
I’m glad my kid got hurt and I’m glad it was nothing serious and I certainly am not saying I cross my fingers for an emergency room visit, but I just think there’s something healthy and normal and needed about the day-to-day cuts and scrapes and bruises and stings and wipe-outs of childhood.
Just like when we were kids.